Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. “Will he live?” The doctor shook his head. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. " "Who cares if we do?" retorted Sheppard, with a look of defiance. . "Thank you; but I've a pocket full of water-chestnuts. “Come sit with me, beautiful. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how.
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